At Your Door
by carls-pra
Summary: From the perspective of three of the characters at the centre of the Chryed storyline. It's the middle of the night - Syed is back, but how will this affect everyone else?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE?**

All I know is that it's dark right now.

So, what, it's maybe 3am... ish.

I'm swaying. Or the world is swaying, I'm not entirely sure.

...

No, **I'm** swaying.

I drank. I know I shouldn't have drunk but I couldn't help it. I went to see some old friends who drink. I thought "What the hell? Who cares if I drink? I'm already gay, I've cheated on my wife, I've lied to just about everyone I know; let's throw some more sin in there!"

Not knowing much about being drunk, I don't know if this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is my body rejecting the amount of vodka I've thrown down it in the last three days or if it's nerves at being here.

I take a very uncoordinated step forward. The world starts swaying again.

I decide to stand still.

I smooth down my hair; it's a bit messy. **I'm** a bit messy. But then you would be when you've been sleeping on a friend's floor for the last few nights.

I shouldn't have run away, I know I shouldn't have run away but I didn't know what else to do. I've run out of fight, Christian. I can't fight for you anymore. I'm not entirely sure I want to fight for you anymore. Why did you make me tell them? Why? Everything would be fine if you hadn't made me tell them.

Falling against the wall behind me I know that's a lie; I should know, I tell enough of them.

I love you. I do. But it's hard, Christian. I would love to throw the "you don't know what it's like for me" line in there, but you're gay... you've been gay a lot longer than I have been; you've been beaten up more than once for being yourself. I hate that. I hate that injustice. It's insane.

...

**This** is insane.

I'm standing in Albert Square at what I can only assume to be about 3am in the morning standing opposite your front door and all I can do is stare at it. I want to knock on it. I want to press the buzzer to call you down. And then I want to look at you.

I want to punch you. I want to kick you. **I** want to beat you up.

Why didn't you stop me? Last year, in the kitchen at the unit, why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you say "Syed, what are you doing? You've got a girlfriend." We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd stopped me.

Who knows if we'd even be friends?

I'm Muslim – you're gay.

It's a foreign concept. We're a foreign concept.

...

Why is my pocket vibrating?

Oh! Phone.

It's Mum... again. And it's 3am, why is she still up?

Little bro probably.

How would this be right now if Amira was pregnant?

Mum can wait.

"Christian!" I shout suddenly. Where did that come from? "Christian!" What in God's name am I doing? "Christian!" I can't stop myself. So this is what vodka does to you. I bang my fist against the door. "Chri..."

I'm an idiot. What am I doing here?

I look up as a light is switched on in his flat.

"Shit," I say to myself, before shoving my phone back into my pocket and running hell for leather back from where I came.

Wherever that was.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO.**

Rox tried to get me to go out tonight but I was having none of it. She reckons I need someone new to take my mind off of things... off of Syed. She thinks I need to move on. She said, "Christian, I hate to be blunt about this..." that's a lie, she loves being blunt – she wouldn't know subtlety if it came up and smacked her in the face, "...but I don't think Syed is coming back. You need to find someone new to play with."

"We weren't just playing, Roxy," I told her, sitting on the sofa running my fingers through my hair, "We were in love... we **are** in love. He'll be back. And when he is, then we'll sort this out."

"Do you think you'll actually end up together?" she said, her hand affectionately placed on my knee.

I had my hands over my eyes; lifting one up I peeked out from underneath it and attempted a cheeky smile, "A boy can dream, can't he?"

She cuddled into my side and wrapped her left arm around me, "Yes. He can." Then suddenly she slapped me.

"Hey! What was that for?!" I said, looking down at the top of her head, not really able to see her face.

"Because you didn't tell me," she said, "I'm your best friend and I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I said I was sorry about that," I told her, kissing the top of her head.

"Yeah... well," she sat up and faced me, "You know how you can make it up to me?"

"I'm not coming out, Rox," I sighed.

Eventually, she relented and we stayed in with a large bottle of wine and _Pretty Woman_ on DVD. After one bottle followed another; with a reasonable amount of alcohol in us we started talking about relationships – she started to talk about Jack and how she feels about the possibility of him and Ronnie getting back together but I think she finds it hard to talk about. I, of course, starting rabbiting on about Sy and how I know I should end it with him and he's caused me so much anguish and heartache – blah blah blah – and of course, I ended up crying. Quite freely blubbering my heart out to my dearest Roxy whilst she sat patiently with the tissue box in her lap. She would've quite happily stayed with me all night – mostly to make sure I was allright and wouldn't do anything stupid – but there was some bust-up at the pub and she had to go and sort it out. By the time it was sorted out, Amy had woken up and it was late.

It still is late; it's about 3ish I think. I stopped clock watching because it was too painful – all I'd do is wonder what Syed was doing anyway. I want to ring him and talk to him and just, see him! I want to run my hands through his hair and stroke his face and tell him that everything will be okay. I know that everything won't be okay, but like I said to Roxy earlier on, a boy can dream.

Lying on the sofa with a blanket over the top of me, the light from the street lamps outside creeps into my flat and fills it with a sort of amber glow. It's enough light for me to see the state of this place at least; as you can imagine I've hardly been motivated to actually do a whole lot of housework. It's not really the most important thing on my agenda. I glance over at the coffee table and smile at the two empty wine bottles and the two empty wine glasses loitering atop my centrepiece.

Suddenly there's banging coming from downstairs; I sit straight up. Syed?

"Christian!?"

More banging.

Wrapping the blanket around me, I rush to the window and look outside. I'd recognise that crop of black hair anywhere. I put the light on and unlock the door.

"Christian!?"

He's back. Syed is back. I hope he's okay. I wonder if Zainab and Masood know that he's back.

"Christian!?"

I'm coming. I slide my hands down the wall for support as I rush down the stairs, pull the chain off the door, fling it open and burst out into the night air.

"Syed!?"

But he's gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Kamil is driving me crazy at the minute – he doesn't stop crying. He knows something isn't right – just last week he had a devoted father, a frustrating – but to give her her due, loving – over-ly attentive mother, a brother who could make him stop crying at the drop of a hat, and an insanely beautiful sister-in-law who spent too long in the bathroom. And now what has he got? Me. Just me. Good old Tambo. Good old reliable Tambo.

Sitting up from my bed, I switch on my bedside light, rub my eyes and reach for my glasses. I put them on then pick up my phone from the bedside table. No new messages. No new phone calls. Nothing. Where is he? I shake my head and stand up, walking over to the window.

That's it, I'm going out. I know Mum says I shouldn't go out this late at night, but I'm a big boy – I'll be okay.

I switch off my light then walk over to my door trying to listen over the crying for any signs of life from Mum or Dad. Dad's snoring so I know he's at least out for the count. Mum, on the other hand, could be a different kettle of fish entirely.

Slowly, I creep open the door then out onto the landing. Kamil's bedroom light is on; I creep past his bedroom down the stairs. Just got to my coat on... put on my shoes... open the front door... and yes, home free. Oh don't bang, don't ba... phew, okay.

Where do I go now?

I look around; I can sort of hear the tube station over the other side of the square and there's a squirrel or something in the park... I sound like David Attenborough.

I can hear shouting. I follow the noise; it seems to be coming from the direction of Christian's. Not that I really want to go there but I shrug and carry on walking. Even though I can't really see properly, I think Christian must be awake still – a light is on his flat.

"Syed?!" Christian bursts through the door wrapped in a dressing gown and what looks more like a ten o'clock shadow than a five o'clock one.

Oh great. This is going to be awkward.

"Syed!?" he calls again, but whoever it was has gone. There's no-one there anymore. His shoulders fall.

"Did you see who that was?" he asks, hurriedly coming towards me.

"No, um... I just heard shouting," I tell him.

"I think the whole square heard shouting," Christian says, wrapping his dressing gown further around him.

"Was it Syed?" I ask.

Christian stopped looking away from me and suddenly turned to me with a sort of urgency about his actions, "I think it might have been."

I risk a look at his face; he looks tired. He looks like he's been crying. It's weird seeing him so dejected. I'm not exactly his number one fan but when you're so used to seeing him flaunting around the unit or wherever, it's weird to see him like this.

"Should you even be talking to me?" he asks; a sad smile on his face.

"Probably not, I'd imagine Mum would ground me for life if she ever found out," I shrugged, "Not that I really go anywhere anyway..."

"What are you doing out this late anyway?"

"Kamil."

"Crying?"

I nodded, "Yep."

He hugged himself tighter. There was an awkward pause.

"Do you know where he is?" I ask him.

"No!" he says; not angrily but almost exasperated, like he's been asked so many times, "I wish I did."

There's a really hideous awkward silence; this is my brother's lover. Ew. That sounds weird. I'd say I'm a pretty liberal person, but I don't really know any gay people. Well, Syed I suppose. Oh and Christian, I guess, but none of my friends are gay... at least I don't think they are. Look at Syed, who'd've thought it? Not me. I always thought he was quite the ladies man... although they do say sometimes – too many and you're covering something up.

"Do **you** know where he is?" he asks me.

"No," I tell him, "I've rang him about ten times every day for the last few days, but he's not picking up. I think he's scared Mum will grab the phone off me and either beg him to come home or shout until she can't shout anymore."

"I wish he would come home," he admits.

"So do I."

"I miss him."

I think about telling him that I miss him as well, but I'd imagine that wouldn't really help matters. I don't really understand their... relationship... but you just have to look at Christian to know that he's suffering without him.

"I should go," I say, not really knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, Zainab will be wondering where you are."

I shrug, "Maybe. She doesn't really seem to know what's going on at the minute; like she's wrapped up in her own little world."

"I know how she feels."

"Goodnight," I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

"Night, Tamwar," he says, walking back into his flat, "Will you let me know if you hear from him?"

With some hesitation – the reason for the hesitation I'm not entirely sure of - I nod and tell him that I will.

"Thanks," he smiles at me, looking genuinely grateful. Then he shuts his front door.

I frown – that was a bit a random. Talking to my brother's lover... boyfriend, person, type of sort of thingy... I don't know! I turn on my heels and saunter off back towards the house actually sort of hoping that Kamil is still crying because then Mum won't realise that I'm creeping back into the house at 3.30 in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR.**

There's a cat on the wall over there; it's been staring at me for fifteen minutes. It won't take its eyes off me. Do I have cat food on me or something? I wouldn't be surprised; I tripped and fell in something pretty nasty when I was running away from the Square... again. It's pretty disgusting – I ought to go back to my mate's and have a shower.

I can't believe I ran again.

I heard him. I heard him shout my name as he came out of his flat. I just bottled it at the last minute. I can't face him. I can't believe I pushed him in the Square, in front of all of those people – Jane, Roxy... my family. I want him to stand behind me and wrap his arms around me again. And kiss the side of my neck and let the whole warmth of his body just make me feel safe and loved.

There's a can next to my foot; I angrily throw it at the cat. It screeches and runs away. Stupid cat. Serves it right.

What exactly am I supposed to do now? Where do I stay if I go back to the Square? At Christian's?

He'd love it, but it would go down like a tonne of bricks with my parents.

I'm not sure I want to stay in the flat; mine and Amira's flat.

And Tambo. I remember him saying he thought I was brave. Brave? Me? I thought he was clever. Not stupid. I'm about as brave as that cowardly lion.

I've let them all down. I've disappointed them.

All of them – not just my family but Christian too. I think maybe he expected us to... be together?... once I'd told my family. It's just not that easy. I keep thinking about that cottage in Yorkshire – 'Done Thinkin', I smile, that'd be nice. And we can sit, and grow old and have a dog. Or two. I like dogs. They're better than cats. Stupid cat. It's back again. Sat on top of that bin over there now.

I stand up and walk over to the bin; the cat's a stray. It has no collar, it has no home.

I know how it feels.


End file.
